


One Two Three Four, I Don't Wanna Be Alone Anymore

by dirkygoodness



Category: The Umbrella Academy (TV)
Genre: Five has some issues, Flashbacks, Gen, Klaus gets it, Minor depictions of hell future, Panic Attacks, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Time travel PTSD solidarity
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-28
Updated: 2019-02-28
Packaged: 2019-11-07 01:14:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,106
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17950796
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dirkygoodness/pseuds/dirkygoodness
Summary: It wasn't the time travel that messed with his mind, in the end.It was the isolation.





	One Two Three Four, I Don't Wanna Be Alone Anymore

**Author's Note:**

> im just gonna leave this here

It wasn't the time travel that messed with his mind, in the end. It was the isolation. Sure,  _ technically  _ the isolation was kind of a side effect of the time travel, but.  _ Still.  _ It was enough of a distinction for Five. Because time traveling didn't scare him. 

He knew more now about how to do it properly, he understood the risks and the side effects and everything that came with it. He didn't like the idea of using it, really, but it was there if he needed it. Like a tool - he’s not afraid of tools. 

_ This,  _ however, he does fear.

It’s nothing more than the drugs and exhaustion from blood loss wearing off that wakes Five up. He doesn’t even really register that he’s awake until he’s been staring at the ceiling above himself for a good few minutes. 

When he finally does realize he’s made acutely aware of the dull, burning, persistent ache in his side, his wound feeling li ke someone’d stretched too little skin over too big a space - stitches. Five drags his hand gingerly over the wound, presses enough the feel the slight bulge of bandage against his stomach. 

Someone had definitely cleaned his wound up, at least. He lets his head roll to the side, glancing around, trying to take in everything as his mind starts to catch up. He’s back at the house, again, so he must have… passed out. 

He hesitantly remembers speaking to Allison, being carried through the hallway. Beyond that the events of things are a blur, but judging by the lack of light coming in from the window he’s been asleep for a good while. Too long. 

Five pushes himself up onto his elbows, grunting at the spike in pain at his side. He ignores it and throws the covers off of himself. He slowly,  _ carefully  _ turns himself so his feet can touch the floor when something pulls against his wrist and he turns, eyes landing on an I.V. drip in his arm.

He stares at it for a moment before scoffing, rolling his eyes and pulling it out with more force than necessary. He starts buttoning his shirt back up, glaring out at the open doorway adjacent to where he’s sitting.  _ I don’t have time for this,  _ Five thinks, bitterly, pushing himself up onto his feet when he’s done, in one quick, fluid motion. 

He regrets it as soon as he does it, the pain in his side mounting to an all new level of pain tied together sickeningly with vision blurring vertigo. He sways on his feet for a solid second before falling right back down onto the bed, letting out a sharp hiss as his side is jostled with the movement. 

Five takes a few, slow breaths, until the swirling vision fades and his side doesn’t make him want to scream anymore. This time he pushes himself up slowly, wrapping his hand protectively around the wound. He takes small, careful steps as he moves out into the hallway finally.

“Allison?” He calls, craning his neck to see if he can spot one of them. “Diego?” He doesn’t see either of them, which is. Just great. 

They’d better be in the house or -  _ or,  _ he wasn’t going to do anything, because if they’re not in the house they’re probably actually doing what he told them too and looking into Harold. Or Leonard. Or.  _ Whatever _ . And he shouldn’t be upset about that, because that’s what they needed to be doing. 

_ He  _ needed to be doing it, too. Maybe someone was at the house and he could get them and meet up with the others. The more of them they had out and about actually  _ looking  _ for this guy the quicker they’d find him. Five turns down the hallway, making his way downstairs - maybe he could grab a drink and some aspirin before he went out. 

He glances into each room as he goes, checking to see if someone's there. All the bedrooms are empty, which he’s not entirely surprised about. He doesn’t know what time it is, but from what he’d seen so far from being back everyone didn’t really seem to  _ use  _ their beds. Except for maybe Klaus and Luther. Both of whom were nowhere to be found. 

In fact, there didn’t seem to be any sign of… anyone. All the lights are off and the house was eerily quiet. Something about it makes the hairs on the back of Five’s neck stand up but he purposely ignores it, slowly making his way over towards the stairs. He stops at the top of them and glares down, letting out a quiet huff of breath as he looks at them. 

Who’s bright idea was it to put the injured man who could barely walk  _ upstairs.  _ Five pulls his hand off his stomach and with one last glare at the stairs, brings his hands together into a jump. It takes far more effort than he’s expecting, and he barely manages to get himself onto the first landing. 

He stumbles a bit and goes careening into the wall next to himself, wincing as his hip collides with the wall and sends a streak of bright hot pain up his side. Well. Guess he wasn’t doing that again. 

“Is anyone here,” Five shouts, pushing himself up from the wall. “Because if you are, and you were the idiot who put me upstairs, I’m going to kick your ass.” It’s an empty threat, in his condition, but. That doesn’t stop him from making it, anyway. 

He waits a few moments, but when no reply comes he growls and makes for the stairs - this time clinging to the railing like his life depends on it. Maybe nobody was here except for him. 

_ No,  _ no. Someone had to be here. The rest of them were stupid, but not stupid enough to leave someone as injured as he’d been alone. Not after Hazel and Cha-Cha figured out where they live. 

At the thought, he glances across the foyer at the door, like it was going to suddenly be kicked in and the two in question would jump through guns-a-blazing. When nothing happens, Five clenches his fist and internally kicks himself for being so stupid. He’s not sure why he’s getting so antsy; it was probably the bloodloss. 

Had to be. 

It takes him an  _ ungodly  _ amount of time to get down the stairs, and when he finally does there’s sweat beading down the side of his face, his legs shaking from strain, and the pain is starting to spread up into his ribs. It’s frustrating, to say the least - that he’s made so  _ weak  _ by something as small as a shrapnel wound. Yet another thing to hate about this body. 

He sucks in a breath and forces his legs to move, making towards the other room. He half expects someone to be at the bar, or on one of the couches, and an insult is on the tip of his tongue as he enters, but he stops when he sees that no one’s there. Just like the other rooms in the house, it’s empty and dark. 

This time, when the swell of  _ something  _ foreboding and all too familiar starts to boil low in his stomach he doesn’t have the will power to ignore it. It manages to drag a shaking breath from him as he spins on his heel, grabbing the door frame as he moves back into the foyer. 

“Diego!” Five calls out, his voice cracking slightly as he does. Nobody answers him, and something about it clenches his stomach. He has to fight the rising bile as he moves for the kitchen. 

Somebody,  _ one of them  _ had to be in the house. There were  _ six  _ of them, after all. There was no way in hell he was the only one in the damn house. He couldn’t be. Who would leave him here alone? (Did they leave him here alone?)

Five rounds the corner into the kitchen and stops in his tracks, the sight of  _ no one  _ in the darkness as painful as a punch to the gut. His breath is starting to come quicker, now, as he stares into the inky black of the far back parts of the kitchen. 

He forces himself to turn back around, forces himself to walk once again back out into the foyer. Maybe he missed someone. Maybe someone’s upstairs. He should go back upstairs. 

He takes the stairs as quick as his shaking legs will take him, but it isn’t  _ fast  _ enough, and by the time he gets to the landing his whole body has started to shake and is making it increasingly difficult to keep a hold of the railing. But he’s fine. He’s not alone. 

Five looks up the final set of stairs and shouts, “Luther!” At them like maybe he missed the  _ biggest person in the house  _ on his first pass through. But nobody answers. Does the air taste like ash?

“Allison! Klaus!” Five screams, his voice burning from how loud he is. “Is anyone here!?” Nobody answers him this time, either, his own voice echoing for a moment in the too big, too  _ empty  _ house. He’s alone. Nobody’s here. They’re gone. 

“Vanya!  _ Klaus!”  _ Why would Vanya be here? He doesn’t know, has to try. Someone has to be there.

Nobody’s there.

Five stumbles backwards, hitting the same wall he’d fallen against before. This time, his knees buckle and he slides down the wall until he’s sitting against the cold wooden flooring. 

He can’t seem to get his lungs to cooperate with him, his breathing erratic, not enough, too much. Five’s tongue feels too heavy in his mouth, the room is too dark, there’s ash on his clothes. 

_ There’s always ash on his clothes.  _ Everything’s burning.  _ It’s burning again.  _

“No no no no no,” Five gasps, his hands making their way to his hair and he  _ pulls,  _ hard,  _ too  _ hard. “We’re not there.” He tells himself, but. He  _ is,  _ there, isn’t he? 

The air is full of dust, full of ash, it’s dark, he can smell fire. Burning wood. Burning  _ flesh. He’s alone again. He can’t leave, he can’t, he’s tried. It doesn’t work. It never works! He just wants to breathe, why can’t he breathe, anything is better than this. He doesn’t want to be alone again, don’t make him be alone again! _

“Jesus, Five,” He hears, his eyes snapping open (when had he closed them?) as he feels a feather light touch against his arm. Klaus is there, kneeling down in front of him with an arm outstretched. 

The sheer relief that hits Five is strangling, almost as bad as the  _ fear,  _ but it doesn’t stop him from snapping his hands out and grabbing Klaus by the arms in a death grip. 

_ “Where were you?!”  _ Five screams, somewhere caught between accusation and relief, sounding far too close to a sob for his liking. Klaus blinks and jerks, visibly startled, his mouth dropping open on a wordless gasp. 

“I -  _ jesus,  _ I was out looking for Luther, what happened?” Klaus’ eyes scan Five over, trying to read him, trying to figure out what happened. “Are - are you okay?” 

Something about the way he says it pulls Five out of his own mind just enough to register what he’s doing, register the clawing grip he has on Klaus’ arms, and he lets them go and jerks his hands back to himself. Takes a still-too-short breath. Takes another. 

“Fuck,” Is what he says, finally, because it’s the only thing he can think of. The look Klaus gives him is - it’s not pity. It’s understanding. 

“That bad, huh?”

“I think I ripped my stitches,” Five says as a non-answer, even though he doesn’t think he’s ripped them. Though, to be fair, he’s in such emotional shock right know he probably couldn’t tell. “Help me back to my room.” 

“Yeah,” Klaus stands back up, reaching down and grabbing Five’s biceps. “No problem, old man.” Five lets himself be lifted up to his feet, and lets Klaus wrap an arm around his shoulders as he walks him back upstairs. 

For once, Klaus isn’t being insufferable, isn’t talking his ear off. For once, Klaus just stays quiet and helps him upstairs, and doesn’t mention what happened. Doesn’t mention anything when Five grabs Dolores as soon as he sees her and sets her next to him in bed. 

Klaus just flops melodramatically into the seat Dolores had been in before and starts messing with a paperweight that was sitting on the dresser. 

Five doesn’t ask him to stay. 

But he doesn’t ask him to leave either. 


End file.
